Black Mangroves
by knightshade
Summary: "Michael stopped cold. There was something right in front of him – inches from his face."


Black Mangroves 

Many thanks to Tomy, as always, for beta reading.  :-)

Black Mangroves 

When I first moved to Chicago, a coworker mentioned how dark it is in Wisconsin at night and how much he hated that.  I laughed at first, telling him that it was nice to actually see the stars, but its funny how easily you become used to the noxious orange streetlight glow that follows you everywhere.  Maybe it's just because your night vision atrophies without exercise, but when you aren't used to total darkness, it starts to feel threatening . . .

The Spanish moss draped the tip-toed mangrove trees in a characteristic grey veil that glimmered in the faint moonlight. As the temperature dropped in the late evening, a mist crept along the ground, obscuring the roots, grasses, and ferns that populated the tangled undergrowth.  Above, the full moon peeked through the low-hanging, vine-dripped canopy, occasionally darkened by birds that flitted by to swallow the abundant mosquitoes.  In the distance, a menacing line of clouds was moving to the northeast, obliterating the stars and threatening to overtake the moon in its headlong rush across the sky.  

Michael carefully made his way to the edge of the water, watching the brackish pool, looking for any signs of disturbance.   It was warm, but the humidity-soaked air and the cool, ocean breeze that blew into the grass-choked swamp made for an odd combination of sensations on Michael's bare arms.  In one sense it was warm, but the dampness turned cold and clammy whenever the wind blew. The sickeningly sweet smell of rotting vegetation clung in the air like a dark perfume.

Michael paused and lifted his wrist to his mouth, "Anything on long range scans?"  Despite his whisper, the words seemed impossibly loud in the stifling stillness of the swamp.

"Not yet," Kitt responded.  "If they're coming, they are at least half an hour away.  Those swamp boats are easy to spot on my scanners."

"And how far away is that storm?"

"I would estimate another hour to an hour and a half before it reaches your position, assuming it maintains its current course."

"You sure you don't want to join me out here, buddy?"

"Muddy water and lightning do wonders for my circuitry," Kitt responded sarcastically.  

"Excuses, excuses," Michael laughed.

Kitt was parked up on a high forestry road about 3 miles from Michael's position; it was as close as he could get, given the environment.  And even the forestry road had been a challenge, with its washed out sections, muddy ruts, and bad overgrowth. Kitt hadn't enjoyed the ride out to Tarrapin Bay, but it was made even worse because he had had to drive it alone.  Michael had rented an airboat, which was currently moored out of sight at the entrance to a natural channel through the swamp.  

According to the warden, alligator poachers had been operating in the area, but no one had been able to catch a glimpse of them.  All they had to go on was a crate of alligator carcasses that had been confiscated off a delivery truck leaving the area.  The wardens hadn't had any luck tracking down the poachers; the swamp was just too big and they didn't have the manpower.  Michael was hoping that with the help of Kitt's sensors, they could get pictures of the poachers so that they could be identified and caught.

Michael held up his bright halogen lantern to find a dry spot to sit.  He had made his way back into the bog on foot, sticking close to the channel and getting help from Kitt in order to limit his use of the noisy airboat.  He had managed to find a section of high ground, with a short but steep bank leading down to the channel.  It was a good spot to watch the water from above without being noticed.  There was a large mangrove to his left with wildly overgrown roots.  Michael gently tested a larger root and then sunk down onto the tangled mass.  He sat with his legs apart for balance, rested his elbows on his thighs and let his hands hang loosely in front of him, still holding the lantern.  He was a small bright spot in a frame of trees and vines.  "You let me know if there are any snakes out here," he said into his comlink.

"There are thousands of snakes out there," Kitt replied evilly, knowing that Michael wasn't a big fan of the slithery reptiles.  "In fact, there are 26 indigenous species of snakes in the Everglades.  And several of the species inhabit the mangrove swamp regions of the park.  There are brown tree snakes, which aren't poisonous but like to curl themselves around tree branches like the ones you're sitting under.  And then there are cottonmouths, otherwise known as water moccasins.  They _are _poisonous and they swim in brackish water and hide under trees and bushes.  In fact, they like mangrove trees, just like the . . ."

"That's enough, Kitt," Michael warned, although he was amused by his partner's antics.  This case was not typical – they didn't usually spend this much time apart.  Michael was beginning to realize how much security there was in having Kitt near.  He didn't like being this far out of reach of his partner. 

Michael looked up through the canopy above him.  He wanted to be out of the swamp before that storm hit, but he figured the same was true of the poachers.  And he was hoping they would have to go past him to get home.  The main branch of the channel was in clear view, but there were several estuaries leading up to it and hundreds of places to hide.  Michael sat quietly, listening for any signs of another human being out in the swamp.  Slowly his head started to nod.

*          *          *

Michael jerked forward, instantly awake.  He wasn't sure exactly what had startled him, but something wasn't right.  It was colder now, the damp mist had overwhelmed the sweltering humidity and caused goosebumps on his arms.  The ocean breeze was a little stronger too.  Michael's senses were alert and his eyes were wide as he looked around him.  He had the feeling that he'd heard something, but he wasn't sure if he had been awake or asleep at the time.  He looked up and saw that the storm clouds were almost on him.  The light from the moon and stars was gone and he was on borrowed time.

"Kitt, you still there?" Michael asked into the comlink, noting that it was a little after eleven.

"Yes, Michael." 

"Are you still scanning?"

"Yes.  There's still no sign of the poachers.  And you've been asleep for about 20 minutes," Kitt said, anticipating Michael's question.  "I was about to wake you.  You have about 40 minutes before the storm breaks."

"Thanks, buddy."  Michael looked around, unnerved.  He still had the sensation that he was dreaming.  Thick mist covered the ground and he could hear the sound of condensation dripping off the trees into the puddles below.  "Kitt, you're sure there's nothing going on?"

"Yes, Michael, why?"

Michael shook his head and tried to calm his nerves.  "Nothing, something just didn't feel right.  Maybe I was dreaming."

Michael rolled his shoulders to work out the kink that had developed while he was asleep.  He heard the sounds of the underbrush – creaks, cracks, and rustling.  He had been hearing them all night and now, thanks to all the adrenaline, his senses were hyper aware.  It grew quiet again.  Then the brush sounds.  Then quiet.  Michael's pulse quickened and his breath grew fast and shallow. That's what had been bothering him.  The noises were rhythmic.  The sounds in the underbrush that had seemed perfectly normal before were starting and stopping, like someone moving towards him slowly.

"Kitt," he whispered into his comlink, dimming the light in his lantern so that it was just enough to cast a bluish glow around his feet.  "There's someone else out here."

"No, Michael, my scanners aren't detected any human beings aside from you.  I'm not sensing any large animals in your vicinity either."

Michael paused to listen to the noise again, willing himself to be calm.  The atmosphere of this place and being miles from his partner were giving him the jitters and he couldn't let himself panic.  No, maybe it wasn't repeating like he thought it was.  Michael slowly stood up and turned in a circle, peering into the darkness around him. 

And then something moved.  

It was close enough to lightly brush the back of his neck and send all the hair on his body standing at attention in fright.  It was large and close and dark.  Michael whirled around and caught his foot in the tangle of roots he had previously been sitting on.  He pitched forward and then tripped over something in the dense undergrowth.  Unable to catch his balance, he careened down the slope towards the channel he had been following.  

"Michael?!"  Kitt yelled through the comlink.

Michael landed painfully in a knot of tree roots that were growing up out of the water.  He scrambled to pull himself up the bank only to slip and drop feet first into the thigh high channel.  He stopped and took a minute to calm down, resting against one of the many roots around him.  He needed to get back up on dry land, and he didn't have his lantern.  

"A little help here, buddy?" Michael asked, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.  He looked up at the edge of the bank, watchful for whatever it was that had caused him to fall.

He got no response.  He tapped on his comlink and realized that the crystal face was broken.  "No.  Come on, Kitt.  Talk to me!  I need you."

Silence. 

Michael waited to see if whatever was behind him was going to materialize.  It didn't.  The water was cold as it slowly seeped up his jeans.  He shuddered and looked around.  The water was reflecting the light from the moon, allowing him to see that the channel was too wide for him to wade to the other side.  He was going to have to go up the embankment he had just fallen down.  Michael waited to be sure there weren't any signs of the interloper and then started carefully pulling himself up the bank, using the mangrove roots to help him.  

When he got to the top, he saw the ghostly blue glow of his lantern.  It had fallen over and was casting a lighted circle in the grass next to the tree.  It took Michael three deep breaths to decide to retrieve it; he needed it to get back to his airboat and it was time to call it a night.  He was out of contact with Kitt, alone in the swamp with no weapons, and there was a storm imminent.  He was definitely ready to give up on catching poachers for the night.  

Michael swept the lantern up off the ground and quickly moved away from the tree where he had been sitting.  Traipsing through the swamp was slow going and he didn't want to broadcast his position by turning the lantern up any brighter.  With the moon and starlight, he could see enough to make out pools of water and the higher branches, but he couldn't see what was on the ground.  He still had the creepy feeling that he was being watched.  The hair on his neck was still bristled. 

Michael paused when he saw that the path he was going down was blocked off by water.  He paused -- but something behind him didn't.  

This time it wasn't his imagination.  There was something or someone out there and Michael knew he was being stalked.  He turned his lantern completely off and crouched down low to the ground.  Nothing.  He waited several minutes and then carefully felt around for a dead branch or something to throw.  He couldn't find anything so he dug his hand into the mud beneath him and carefully tossed a large clump of it ahead of him.  Still nothing.  Now Michael was annoyed.  Was he imagining things or not?  If not, whatever was following him was good.  He slowly stood up and started to move.  

And then he heard giggling -- soft, distant, childlike giggling.  It hung in the air like mist and wound its way through the jungle of branches and vines.  Michael shook his head and tried to ignore the chill that touched every individual vertebra in his spine.  "Is someone out there?"  Michael called.  "Show yourself."  

The giggling died away.  The voice was sing-songy, probably female.  Michael's heart was racing.  This wasn't right.  None of this made any sense.  His hair was back to standing on end and he was struggling to think straight. 'Get back to the boat fast' was the only thought that made sense.  Michael turned his back to the direction of the voice and plowed through the standing pools in front of him, trying to take the most direct route.  He was being careful to move quickly without falling and hurting himself.  Whatever was behind him stayed quiet.  

After several minutes of walking, Michael was starting to feel safe again.  He thought that maybe this was his imagination getting the better of him.  He didn't have Kitt's sensors to rely on so he was jumping to completely illogical conclusions.  And Kitt had said there was nothing out there with him.  Michael had to trust that.  Kitt would probably laugh at him right now if he knew what Michael had been thinking.

After a few more steps, Michael heard something again.  This time it was different, like an annoying insect buzzing, but it was distant.  He turned around slowly and determined that the sound was coming from the direction of the channel.  An airboat.  The poachers _were_ out there.  Maybe they had camped out in the swamp all day and now they were on their way back to their base of operations.  Michael turned around and started to trot back towards his previous hiding place on the channel.  He needed to get a good shot of them, then he wouldn't have to come back out to the swamp tomorrow night.  

He started retracing his path as fast as he could, the whining of the airboat fan was getting closer and he needed to get into position.  He got back to one of the little estuaries and stepped up onto a series of roots to cross it when the voice came back.  "Uh-ahhhh," it said in that singsongy voice.  

Michael stopped cold.  There was something right in front of him – inches from his face.  It was dark. In fact, the only reason he could see it was that there was no light reflecting off of it at all.  The small amount of light from his lantern sank into it completely.  The air around Michael seemed to drop 10 degrees in temperature.  It wasn't a face, or an animal, or anything he could identify.  It was moving darkness -- a semi-solid patch with no discernable borders.  

Then Michael felt something icy cold on his cheek and realized that whatever it was, was touching him.  For the first time in a very long time, Michael panicked.  He flew off the root he had been standing on and crashed into the swamp.  He tried to head in the direction of his airboat, desperate to escape from whatever that thing was.  He couldn't think of anything but getting away.  He couldn't hear anything except his heart pounding in his chest and the sound of blood rushing up the arteries near his ears.  He kept tripping and having to jump over obstacles or backtrack to find a clear path.  He was acting, not thinking.  Michael was getting cuts and bruises on his face and arms from all the low-lying branches.  He thought he was going towards his boat, but slowly he realized that he couldn't see the channel anymore.  That fact worked its way into his panicked mind.  The channel had always been just off to his right, an inky black surface that he'd catch a glimpse of, reminding him where he was.  Now it was gone. 

The channel.   The poachers.

Michael finally stopped his mad dash through the swamp and concentrated on getting his breathing under control.  Booby traps.  Of course.  The poachers were operating in that area, they probably rigged traps to scare away anyone who happened to follow them.  That would explain the thing in the forest. And they probably had speakers rigged to play a recording when someone got too close.  

How could he panic like that? Michael's fear turned to self-recrimination.  Now he'd made his situation much worse.  He looked around into the darkness at the tangle of leaves and vines that hung in every direction.  He had gotten away from the channel.  That was his lifeline, his way out.  How could he be so stupid to panic like that?  It was a rookie mistake.  He prided himself in his ability to calmly assess a situation – even under extreme circumstances.  

"Shit!  Dammit," he swore.  This was not how he needed to operate.  But then beating himself up wasn't going to get him anywhere either. 

*          *          *

"Michael?!"  Kitt tried again, knowing it was in vain.  The comlink was most likely damaged.  He wasn't even able to monitor Michael's vitals through the tiny scanner imbedded in the wristwatch.  The only thing he could do was track Michael's movements via the homing beacon.  Kitt felt completely cut off and helpless.

After he lost contact, Kitt had been grateful for the homing beacon, but now that Michael seemed to be floundering, it certainly didn't do anything to ease his mind.  At first Michael had headed off in the right direction, but then he had lost his way and now seemed to be moving deeper into the swamp, away from the channel.

Kitt wanted desperately to tell him to turn around.  In fact, he had even tried his Harmonic Synthesizer, even though he knew, realistically, there was no way Michael would hear it.  There had to be some way, but Kitt couldn't come up with anything. 

The bright green blip on the Kitt's monitor came to a stop.  He silently watched the little dot, willing it to turn around and head back the way it came.  It stayed motionless.  

Kitt decided he needed to call for backup.  There was nothing he could do and he didn't want to wait until Michael was really in trouble.

*          *          *

Michael took stock of his situation.  He was definitely lost.  Without the channel to guide him, he had no way of knowing what direction to travel in.  He looked up at the sky and tried to locate the front edge of the storm clouds, but the canopy was too dense here, without the channel to break it up.  If he could find the cloud line, he could at least use that to move in the correct direction, assuming the storm was still moving southwest to northeast.  But he was running out of time.  He wondered if Kitt could see him or if he was completely in the dark.  Michael shone the lantern on his comlink; it looked trashed.  The face was broken and it had gotten wet, but Michael had never known the homing device to stop working.  He assumed that Kitt had called someone and would be able to get help to his location.  But the closer he could get to the channel, the easier it would be to get rescued.  And he hadn't given up on finding his airboat yet.  

Michael slowly walked in a spiral outward from his position, trying to find a clear view of the sky.  As the spiral widened, he stepped into a puddle of muck and sank to the top of his already wet and squishy boot.  In the process of freeing himself, he looked up, and saw a few stars to his right and then the stifling blackness of the line of clouds.  At least that was something.  

If he headed southwest, he knew he would meet up with either the channel or the ocean.  It was also tempting to try to head further east.  If he did so, he would eventually run into the forestry road and possibly, Kitt.  If Kitt hadn't left to get help, that was.  But the channel was closer, so Michael picked up his lantern and started off to the southwest, keeping the line of clouds in front of him. 

The lightning had begun.  It was mostly off in the distance, but it was moving his way.  Traveling through the swamp was arduous and Michael was tired and bruised from his fall.  With the adrenaline wearing off, he was preparing for a long night of trudging.  He missed Kitt's banter.  Even when they were separated, the constant back and forth over the comlink was a comfort he had taken for granted.  

Michael was scanning the top of the canopy, as he did every 20 feet or so, when he thought he saw something up in the tree in front of him.  He stopped and looked again, but there was nothing there.  He shook his head and took a few steps forward.  He stopped when he heard giggling.  Then he thought he caught something out of the corner of his eye.  It looked like a tattered black drape was hanging from a branch, but when he looked at it straight on, it disappeared.  

"Uh-ahhhhhhhhhh," came the same voice. 

Michael shivered.  Whatever these poachers had come up with was pretty sophisticated; it seemed to be steering him away from the channel.  Michael carefully walked up to the tree and did an inspection of the area.  There weren't any hidden batteries, cords, or anything that looked manmade.  He glanced up into the tree again and then continued on his way.

"Noooooooooooo!"  

This time the voice held the final o and increased in volume until it became a wail.  Something very large, dark, and tattered swooped down in front of Michael shrieking.  He could still barely see it, but something cold and black brushed him as it went by.  Michael jumped back and fell down, landing on his butt.  He didn't take his eyes off the space in front of him.  Whatever it was had disappeared, but Michael was left with a feeling of unease.  Whatever it was hadn't hurt him yet, but it was giving off an aura of malevolence.  Something about it was touching him on a primal level that he couldn't rationalize or explain.  This was something more than the environment or a booby trap; there was something in this place that wasn't normal.  And it felt evil to him.  Now it seemed to have a keen interest in keeping him away from the channel.  

Michael decided that in order to get anywhere, he had to stop trying to figure this thing out and accept that there was something crazy going on.  He didn't move, willing himself to calm down and think instead.  If he went the way this thing was trying to herd him, he would eventually reach the forestry road, but he had no way of knowing what this thing wanted or what sort of danger might be down that path.  It was also longer than going back to the channel.  It would take him hours to get to Kitt and it would be difficult for someone else to help rescue him.  If he was close to the water, they could pick him up in an airboat.  But maybe if he went further into the swamp, this thing would leave him alone and let him make some progress.  

Michael pulled himself off the ground as another roll of thunder peeled through the swamp and echoed off the ocean.  That made his decision for him.  He wasn't going to trek through the swamp in the pouring rain for at least three miles when he could turn around and head back to the boat, strange swamp thing or no strange swamp thing.  Michael set his jaw and started toward the west again.  He had barely taken a step or two when the thing swooped at him again, shrieking and whirling.  It banked and started spinning quickly in a tight circle around him.  Michael felt the air thicken and grow cold, like being surrounded by gelatin.  It got worse as the thing circled him until Michael literally couldn't move.  He lungs and chest worked overtime, sucking new air into his body as fast as possible.  The air inside his lungs felt heavy, cold.  He was afraid it was getting too thick to breathe.  Michael's vision went dark, like a veil dropping over him.  He was panicking again, blind and paralyzed -- all he could do was try to absorb what was happening.  There was a horrible whistling in his ears, that he realized must be the creature's voice.  The darkness around him was terrifying and the thick air seemed to turn like a slowly moving eddy, churned by the large dark shape tormenting him.  

Then suddenly it stopped.  Michael fell to the ground, completely shocked.  He lay in the muck panting and shaking.  The feel of the grit on his face gave him something real to hold onto.  He couldn't wrap his mind around what had just happened.

"Over here."  This time, the voice hissed.  There was definite malice in its words.  

Michael drew on a skill he had long had.  Like lighting a wick, he converted all his fear and disbelief to anger.  He yanked himself up off the ground and stomped toward the tree where the voice had come from.  "What the FUCK do you want from me!!!"  he screamed into the forest.  He whirled around and spit his words in all directions.  "Why the are you doing this?!"

There was a long pause and then the creature went back to its giggling.  "Come here," it said, and the giggling died away with a peal of loud thunder.

In the sky above him, there was a cloud-to-cloud flash of lightning.  Michael did not want to venture through the mangrove swamp with a large storm about to break, but he wasn't going to get back to his boat if this thing kept harassing him.  And he did _not_ want to get sucked up into a vortex like that again either.  Harnessing all of his anger, Michael picked up a large branch, and hurled it into the canopy.  "I'll go your way, but leave me the fuck alone!" he yelled before started out on an eastward path.

Michael's anger subsided quickly as he walked.  The monotony of putting one foot in front of the other was slowly draining the fire out of his system.  The flashes of lighting were getting more frequent and the thunder was getting louder with each strike.  In fact, it was starting to take on its own personality.  The sound of the air rushing back together after being parted by the charge had taken on a frighteningly livid screech – it sounded like a large cat crying.   Over and over again the peals rang out into the night, punctuated by blinding flashes of light.  Some were meant for other clouds, some were meant for an unlucky tree on the ground.  Every strike made Michael stop until the burned-in images of the world around him subsided and his night vision returned.

And then the rain came.  The drops fell slowly at first, mixing with the other swamp sounds, but eventually the staccato rhythm sped up and drowned out everything else.  

"Shit," Michael muttered to himself, feeling the rain soak into his T-shirt.  He was already wet and cold, but the rain seemed to pound against his already battered spirit.  He hadn't seen his demented shepherd in a while, but he didn't want to continue trudging in a downpour.  Dejected, he rested against a tree, hiding beneath its canopy and watching the menacingly beautiful light show above his head.  Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered his mother admonishing him as a child to stay away from trees in a lightning storm.  He rubbed the side of his jaw and then wiped his rain-soaked hair away from his forehead.  His arms were covered in sandy grit and his boots weighed a ton, but he had to keep going.  Checking the sky again, he ventured off in search of the road.

The sound of thunder had started to seem as constant in the swamp as the rustling in the underbrush.  It was a big storm that was probably going to continue parading through the area for hours.  The downpour didn't let up and Michael started to feel the pain in his limbs from the bruises and stress-filled flight.  At some point he had twisted his ankle.  Not badly, but enough that he was feeling it now.  He didn't know how long he had been walking, but he needed to rest again.  He leaned up against a tree and tipped his head back, letting the rain roll down his cheeks, wiping the grime away.  He opened his eyes and realized the tree above him was large, with a thick nest of branches arcing out in all directions.  He was still looking up when the next bolt of lighting slashed across the sky.  The brilliant flash lit up the branches and Michael jumped away from the tree, feeling his skin crawl.  In that momentary clarity, it had seemed as though all the branches were really writhing snakes, twisting out away from the tree and interlocking to form a living, crawling umbrella.  

Horrified, Michael scrambled away as quickly as he could.  He didn't know if he was hallucinating or if what he saw was real.  The forest was taking on an evil air.  Every shadow held something hideous.  Even the mundane seemed horribly twisted.  Michael looked back at the tree and waited for the next flash.  When it came, he saw an aging, gnarled tree, perfectly normal, except for a dark black shape, similar to Spanish moss, hanging from a branch.  It lingered for just a second before disappearing again.  

The creature seemed determined to keep him running.  Michael was starting to wonder if it had some horrible fate in mind for him.  Having no idea what it was, his mind was conjuring up all sorts of gruesome possibilities.  It was starting to bring up a swell of fear from the pit of his stomach.  He had to think of something else.  He had to find a way to keep control.  He thought about Kitt and the times that he had been Michael's bedrock.  Keeping him sane, keeping him going, telling him jokes when he was shot, relieving the tedium of travel with a game or a friendly conversation. That's what he needed to hold on to.  

He started to construct a conversation with Kitt.  The Kitt in his imagination was haughtily telling him that he was being silly.  There was no phantom creature in the tree behind him and of course, under this kind of stress, his mind's eye had conjured up the image of a tree of snakes.  He had subconsciously incorporated their previous conversation on the matter of reptiles.  

Armed with Kitt's council, Michael picked himself up and continued.  There was no other option but to carry on.  The road ran for miles, so as long as he headed more or less east, he would eventually cross it.  Michael tipped his head back and drank the rain that showered him.  It was going to be a long night and he had to take advantage of the fresh water while it was available.  Luckily, the swamp was thinning out and the mangrove trees had given way to high cypresses and tall scrawny pines.  There were patches of ferns and bushes, but much of the ground was bare and muddy.

After what seemed like hours, Michael glanced up and saw lights through the rain.  He stopped and squinted.  That shouldn't be possible.  But yes, there were definitely two closely spaced lights off in the distance through the trees.  Michael's spirit soared.  He had to be getting close.  He looked again.  The lights were correctly spaced for a pair of headlights, but he couldn't be that close to the road, could he?  Maybe he had traveled farther than he thought.  He strained through the darkness, but couldn't see any sign of a red tracking light.  But maybe it was the wrong angle.  Maybe the grass was too high or it was too hard to see or something.  Maybe the headlights in the distance were Kitt.

At the thought, Michael started to move faster.  He slipped in the mud occasionally, but he was having a much easier time traveling.  His fast walk evolved into a run.  It was still a long way to the lights, and he lost sight of them several times, but Michael was definitely gaining ground.  He was careful to avoid the branches and roots around him as he jogged through the swamp towards the two beautiful lights.  

If it wasn't Kitt, it had to at least be someone in a car or truck.  Michael was bolstered by the fact that very soon he would be out of the miserable, endless rain.  He couldn't wait to lean back in the driver's seat and fall asleep, safe in Kitt's cabin, where there were no strange, giggling black things, just the warmth and comfort of being with his partner.

Over several minutes, Michael's stamina started to give way and his jog slowed back to a quick walk.  The lights were just up ahead.  He broke into a medium-sized, grass-filled clearing and suddenly the rain stopped.  Michael stepped one or two paces further and spun around.  It was still raining in the trees, but for some reason, the air in the clearing was dry.  He looked ahead at the lights and tried to discern what was behind them.  There was no sign of Kitt's red scanner, dimming Michael's hopes.  He wondered who would be sitting in a car in the middle of a clearing in the swamp.  The suspicious cop in him wondered if it was the poachers, looking to get rid of anyone who dared to try to stop them.  

He forgot about the fact that it had stopped raining and slunk toward the lights, keeping low in the tall grass.  He turned off his own lantern and used the unseen person's light to maneuver. He crept through the clearing, step by step.  His breathing had become shallow as he was again hit with the idea that something wasn't right.    

Michael crept to within a few feet of the lights and his heart sank.  He moved forward and picked up one very old, rusty lantern.  Its twin was leaning in the grass, the flame flickering.  Michael couldn't wrap his brain around the fact that this wasn't what he was looking for.  The kerosene lamp he was holding was badly corroded and was of a style that easily could have been 100 years old.  It dawned on him that someone, or something, had put these lanterns here recently.  Someone had lit them, someone had planted them in the grass.  Someone or something was toying with him, meaning he was brought here on purpose.  He felt that chill again and remembered that the rain had stopped when he entered the clearing.  

Michael looked up to scan the tree line for clues as to who was responsible.  He shook his head to clear his blurry vision.  But it wasn't his eyes.  Michael carefully watched the tree line, and he was convinced that it was moving.  Somehow the trees seemed to be moving around him, slowly spinning like he was sitting on a child's merry-go-round.  The edges of the trees were fuzzy, indistinct.  Michael picked one tree and followed it.  It was definitely moving, and as Michael's horror grew, he realized that the tree was picking up speed. 

Michael darted toward the end of the clearing.  He tried to reach out and touch the trees, but there was an awful tingling feeling in his whole arm as it passed a certain point.  He tried again, this time ramming his arm forward as fast as he could, but the air in front of him was warm and somehow charged.  It didn't hurt, but it was very uncomfortable and he couldn't seem to get through it.  Michael looked down and realized that there was a large trench developing between him and the trees.  He backed and gathered his strength to try to jump across it.  He did not want to be trapped here in this strange clearing.  He hurled himself at the edge of the clearing and leapt over the trench, only to connect with some sort of force, that same tingling, which threw him back into the clearing.  It seemed to have some give, so Michael backed up for another try.  Again, he was knocked to the ground.  He struck out at the unseen barrier that was keeping him trapped.  After a few fruitless minutes, it sank into his head that he would have to think his way past this barrier -- brute force wasn't going to work.  

Michael looked around, trying to find inspiration and was startled when he thought he saw the familiar black cloak resting in one of the trees just outside the clearing.  Maybe this had been its plan all along.  To get him to this clearing so that it could hold him prisoner.  And then what?  That, Michael didn't know.  But he was struggling to keep his breathing under control again.  

The trees were visibly picking up speed.  It was getting to the point where looking at them was making him dizzy.  He looked up at the sky again and realized that the clouds were moving as well.  Somehow the whole clearing had become a giant vortex.  Michael felt nauseous and struggled to keep from getting disoriented.     

Then the infernal giggling started.  It was soft, tracing the path of the trees, in a gentle tone this time.  Then the laughter turned to words.  "Sleep," the voice said.

"No!" Michael yelled, his anger seething.  "I won't sleep and I will _not_ let you keep me prisoner here."

"Sleep," the voice said, calmly.

Michael's frustration boiled over and he flung himself at the edge of the clearing.  "NO!!"

The voice cackled and the black shape flew down from the trees again.  Michael wasn't sure if it was his imagination or not, but the thing seemed to shimmer as it crossed the threshold into the clearing.  Michael was afraid for a half a second that it was going to swoop around him again, but it fluttered above him instead.  The fluttering sound filled his ears.  He tried to fight it and get out from under the creature, but it was descending on him, and the fluttering was somehow hypnotic.  It was drowning out all the other sounds around him.  He couldn't concentrate.  

Michael was dimly conscious of the fact that he was falling slowly to the ground.  He could feel the soft grass underneath his body, and the wetness of the mud through his shirt.  But he could only hear the fluttering of the black creature above him.  As it grew to encompass his entire view, all he could see was complete darkness.

*          *          *

Michael woke with a start and found himself staring up at something whirling overhead.  There was a bright light above him, that seemed to be dropping out of the sky.  It took Michael a moment to realize that he was watching the spinning blades and searchlight of a helicopter.  It hovered over him before veering to the left and landing a safe distance away.  A man in a blue jumper marked 'Rescue' trotted across the clearing towards him, ducking his head to avoid the blades.  Michael looked around and found that the trees were no longer turning and that the first light of dawn was brightening the sky to the west.  Michael shook his head.  That was the wrong direction.  He looked at the rescue worker, confused.

"Are you Michael Knight?" the man asked.

"Yeah," was all Michael could manage, still disoriented.

"You okay?"  

Michael nodded dumbly, feeling his body protest.  There was nothing major wrong, just the usual.

"Glad we found you.  You've got some people all worked up over you."

Again Michael nodded, not sure what to say, still unsure of what was happening.

"And what with the fire, you know.  People get edgy."

"Fire," Michael started.  "What fire?"

"Man, you're lucky.  A bolt of lightning hit a tree and started a massive fire.  It caught on pretty quickly and roared through the area, despite the rain."

The light off to the west.  That must be where the fire was burning.  

Michael allowed himself to be helped to his feet and whisked away into the giant helicopter.  It lifted off the ground, and banked away, heading back toward civilization.

*          *          *

True to form, Kitt was waiting for Michael in the hospital parking lot.  And true to form, Michael had allowed as little of the poking and prodding as he could get away with.   He had even managed to escape before Devon and Bonnie could show up to visit him.  

"Michael, I'm so glad you're alright.  You have no idea how worried I was," Kitt said as Michael climbed into the familiar driver's seat.  He lowered himself gently, his body protesting, but happy to be back in comfortable surroundings.

Michael smiled.  "Thanks, buddy."

"I could locate your position with the homing beacon, but I couldn't read your vitals or communicate."

"I know.  I broke the comlink good this time.  I really missed you out there."

"Michael, how did you know which way to go?  I was so worried at first when you veered off into the forest, thinking you were lost, but once that fire started . . . Well, it was lucky you went the way you did, the lightning hit right near the mouth of the channel.  You would have been cut off."

Michael starred out the windshield, trying to figure out how to put his thoughts into words.  "I didn't know which way to go.  I wanted to get back to the channel.  But something, I don't know, some creature, kept driving me away, further into the swamp."

"Creature, Michael?"

"I can't explain.  It was something I've never seen before.  I thought it was, well, I don't know what I thought it was.  You'd probably think I was crazy.  But somehow, it ended up leading me the right way."

"Then whatever it was, I'm grateful.  I think it saved your life," Kitt said quietly.

Michael ran a hand through his hair.  It was raining again, the water splashing up into a fine mist as it hit the asphalt.  In the safety of Kitt's cabin, it all seemed so far away, so unreal.  "I guess so, buddy."  

There was an uncomfortable pause.  Kitt wasn't sure what to say.  He wanted to hear more about whatever Michael had encountered in the swamp, but it was obvious that Michael didn't want to talk about it.  So instead Kitt filled him in on the details of their case.

"Oh and I thought you'd like to know, Michael, they caught the poachers.  Their airboat ran aground in the storm and they had to be rescued from the fire. The boat was filled with dead alligators."

A part of Michael was thankful that they had been caught, but in a way he felt like his ordeal in the swamp had been for nothing.  But at least he didn't have to go back.

Michael put the car in gear and they headed out toward the highway.  "I don't know about you, but I'm ready to go home."    

The highway snaked along the edge of the swamp, a sharp swath of concrete cutting through the wilderness.  As Michael and Kitt drove by a particularly tall cypress, what looked like a dark, tattered cloak fluttered in the wind, high above them.  It was pulled off its branch by a sharp gust and seemed to fall towards the ground before catching the wind in its folds and sailing off through the rain.


End file.
